
Class .55_3^0i 
Book V U34^ <^ 

COHfRIGHT DEPOSm 




LUCY CHAFFEE ALDEN 



Bon^B of i^tipt 

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^iamp^rtt. Mass. 

1909 



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COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY J. J. METCALF 



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You sang me a song in the spirit 
A gentle and generous song ; 

And played me a tune on the pen-point 
Whose echo is lingering long. 



3art-Waxh 

These verses have been printed in the Spring- 
field Republican, Zion's Herald, The World's 
Crisis, Our Hope, All Nations Monthly, Berean 
Quarterly, Messiah's Advocate, and in a few other 
places. 

Grateful to my many friends for their kindly 
interest, I am glad to speak to them again. I thank 
Miss Metcalf and Rev. Charles B. Bliss, pastor 
of the Congregational church in Hampden. 

LUCY CHAFFEE ALDEN. 
Hampden, Mass., Dec. 21, 1909. 



(HontrtttH 

Fore Word 

To a Poet-Frieud 

Invocation 

THE vSTORY OF JESUS 
The Story of Jesus 
His Word 

The Carpenter's Son 
Judas of Kerioth 
His Homeland 
Suffering and Glory 
Fishers of Men 

THE MACEDONIAN CRY 
The Mactdonian Cry 
The Missionary 
The Evangel-Bearer 
Our Servants 
A Day-Dream 
Harvest 

"I WILL COME AGAIN" 
" I will Come Again " 
Psalm XCI 
God Save the King 
" I Change Not " 
Mount Zion 
The Golden Bells 
Home 

HAMPDEN 
Hampden 
Common- Wealth 
Our Homeland 
A Day in July 
Snow-Flakes 
The Wooden Wedding 
The Golden Wedding 
The Gambrel Roof 

A MORNING SUNSET 
A Morning vSunset 
Our Mother 
vSunday School 
The Teacher 

To Henry W. Longfellow 
Carefulness 
Freedom 

SHORE-WARD 
Shore- Ward 
Rest 

Joy in the Morning 
By-and-By 

" Neither Any More Pain " 
Jerusalem 
Wine of the Kingdom 



(§ 



3lmi0ratto« 

RISEN Christ ! E'er since that cloud of heaven 
Received Thee out of sight at Bethany, 
The pledge of Thy return, by angels given, 
Has kept Thy lovers brave to wait for Thee. 

O priestly Christ, behind the vail departed. 
And sprinkling on the mercy-seat Thy blood ! 

To watch for Thee thine Israel, eager-hearted, 
Adown the temple courts for long have stood. 

O kingly Christ, for endless years anointed, 
God's chosen Prince for Zion's holy hill ! 

The world-kings reign until the time appointed. 

When earth, as heaven, shall do God's blessed will. 

O living Christ ! Could he who calls it fiction. 

That promise sure of Thine epiphany. 
But share Thy Spirit's witness and conviction. 

How would his conquered heart keep faith in Thee ! 



I 



®V *lorg of StBtxB 




"SCANTUCK'S BANKS UNTROn" — Page 35 



(HI)? 0ttirg of Jrfiua 

^HE story of Jesus, the centuries through, 
xJ Has over and over been told. 
To far generations, the old and the new. 
To nations, the new and the old. 

The story has softened and sweetened the tone 

Of motherhood's low lullaby, 
And lightened the scepter of fatherhood's throne 

With influence sent from on high. 

And often in childhood the teachable heart 

Has grown the more gentle and mild, 
And wiser to carry its own little part. 

Through knowledge of Bethlehem's Child. 

It may be the lad, with his hearty good cheer. 

And soul full of spirits and joy, 
Grows kinder and braver and truer each year 

By hearing of Nazareth's Boy. 

Grief's tender Acquaintance and sorrow's schooled Man 

In spirit still comforts the sad. 
Till God in His season accomplish His plan, 

And make the earth's wilderness glad. 

fta Waxh 

More blest to give than to receive ? 

Can that be true ? 
Yet Jesus told it for a truth. 

And Jesus knew. 

He knew the joy of sacrifice 

At any cost ; 
Of giving service, self, and life, 

To save the lost. 

And some have left their own sweet way 

To walk in His ; 
Have proven well the sacred text, 
/ And know the bliss. 



Qllir (Unrpmtn^si Bon 

^[^N Joseph's shop at Nazareth 
^ A youthful workman stands, 
Plying the hammer, saw, and plane 
With deft and willing hands. 

He smells the breath of fragrant woods> 
Whose clippings strew the floor. 

Of cedar sweet from Lebanon, 
Or fir, or sycamore. 

He splits the sturdy grain apart — 

Perhaps a Bashan oak — 
And shapes the bow, and shaves the pir?^ 

To make the ox a yoke. 

I seem to find him thinking then, 

Of his approaching quest 
For weary souls, to bid them come 

And take his yoke of rest. 

And while he measures beam and board,, 

Or hews the heavy sill. 
To frame the boat, or build the house, 

I ween he thinketh still 

About the wise man's rock-held home 

That stood unmoved for long, 
Though rains had beaten, winds had blown. 

And floods been high and strong. 

Our daily toil is Heaven-blest; 

To plow and pen and broom, 
And every useful industry, 

The Father giveth room. 



lO 



Jitbaa at ICrrtotlj 

'^' Forgive them, Father," Jesus prayed. 

And will his prayer avail ? 
Or was it only sentiment. 

Spasmodic, fruitless, frail ? 
"'Thou always hearest me," he said. 

Then how shall answer fail ? 

Forgive them? Whom? His careless friends:? 

0, no, his foes, instead ; 
Among them Judas, first of all 

By greed of money led, 
But first of all to penitence 

And self -renouncement sped. 

But Jesus called him Devil ? Yes. 

Called Peter Satan, too ; 
And Paul's sharp pen took pains to let 

The same Greek wording show, 
That now and then some deacon's wife 

Might be a devil too. 

Condoning not this traitor's crime, 

A sin so great and plain, 
'Tis fair to ask if he alone 

Has traded love for gain ; 
If he alone has sold his Lord 

And bought a world's disdain ? 

How few so full confession make» 

As Judas made that day ! 
' I've sold the blood of innocence. 

And thrown the price away." 
Was not his broken heart a plea 

For grace and mercy ?— Say ? 



II 



TIDING David's pleasant pastoral lands 
35V Revived their ancient fame, 
When into Bethlehem's little world 

The child of Mary came. 
New charm to all the lovely slopes 

Of Nazareth was lent, 
When mid its homes there came to be 

One holy childhood spent. 
On Capernaum by the sea 

Shone light from heaven then. 
When Jesus trod its busy shore 

And dwelt among its men. 

The Jordan wave, the Hermon dew. 

The strand of Galilee, 
The restful stone of Jacob's well. 

The soil of Bethany, 
Though senseless all, did they not feel 

With almost human sense 
The hallowing touch of holy flesh 

That moved Omnipotence ? 

And chief of all, Jerusalem 

On princely Judah's heights — 
Jerusalem of privilege 

And rare inalien rights. 
The home where gathered all the tribes 

From every far off land — 
Saw Jesus come with royal grace 

And bounty in his hand. 



12 



But ah ! her wicked citizens 

Ignored their Blessed One ; 
And shut their eyes on God's best gift, 

Their own King David's Son. 
that with penitential tears 

Those eyes had first been wet. 
Before his own had wept for them 

Upon Mount Olivet ! 

Sweet Olivet ! what fuller scene 

Than meets its westward look, 
Adown its softly sloping sides. 

And o'er the Kidron brook, 
Has ever wrought on human heart 

Or burst on mortal eye — 
Jerusalem, so folded once. 

So scattered by and by ? 
Long home of prophets, priests, and kings. 

Its every fallen gate 
Has proved that word of prophecy, 

That dreadful "desolate!" 

E'en so, the Conqueror's banner now 

Must wider be unfurled — 
Not only Jews' Messiah he. 

But Savior of the world. 
E'en yet Jerusalem shall join 

The general acclaim, 
And shout with gladness, " Blest is he 

Who comes in Heaven's name !" 



13 



w 



N the cross the Roman soldiers 
Laid the Lord ; 



Not resisting, not returning, 
Look or word. 

Hands and feet they spiked and fastened 

To the tree, 
While from every wound the blood-drops 

Trickled free. 

Ready arms the wood supporting 

Lifted it. 
Till with drop and thud it settled 

In its pit. 

Thus we see the Man of sorrows 

Lifted up. 
Not for tears nor three-fold praying 

Stays the cup. 

How three lingering hours in anguish 

Jesus hung, 
Pens have written, tongues have witnessed, 

Lips have sung. 

But no script, nor song, nor sermon. 

E'er may say 
What the World's alone Redeemer 

Bore that day — 

Thorny crown, abuse, reviling, 

Taste of gall, 
Taunt of soldiery and priesthood. 

And the call, 

"God ! My God 1" until the latest, 

Loudest cry 
Told the story, that for sinners 

Christ must die. 

14 



Lo ! Three days away, by Heaven's 

Kind decree, 
From his tomb the risen Master 

Went out free ! 

Now, where far beyond the veiling 

Glory pours, 
Priest with God, He waits with mercy 

Near the doors. 

Would we at His grand returning 

Share his chrism? 
We must meekly share with patience 

His baptism. 

Fuller not than His, of suffering, 

Our estate. 
Hardly less than His the rapture 

Which we wait. 



^^ 



**JtBljpra of li^tt" 

The great blue sea of life is full 

Of souls astray from God, 
Of whom how many a precious draught 

Waits but for net and rod ! 

And He who loved the seashore so 
Stands calling once again. 
Come, follow me, and I will make 
You fishermen of men." 

15 



II 
(Slu Mncthamm Org 



2Ii)^ iUar^bnman (Ury 

♦^jriS night at Troas. Dipt beneath the sea, 
^J'The westward, isleful, sea, the sun has set 
Upon the tired pulse of toil and care. 
Against the east Mt. Ida lays her brow, 
And lets it bathe itself in evening dew, 
The while the slowly-northering Xanthus seeks 
The sea, beyond the old near-lying site 
Of ancient Troy, whose noble gates — (so ran 
The verse of Grecia's olden poet, were 
It dream or were it very history) — 
Twelve times a hundred years before, withstood 
For forty lingering seasons, patiently, 
A siege of Javan's bravest, princeliest, men, 
Until their fatal gift, the towering horse. 
Built many a cubit high, and secretly 
Intestined with a band of s worded men, 
Sprung fast its awful snare of blood and fire 
On that devoted city. 

Now 'tis night 
At Troas. Paul in vision hears from far 
That strong, historic, Macedonian cry, 
Which echoes long. And so to Europe's lands 
His gospel flies. Philippi hears the prayers 
And songs of prisoned men at midnight hour. 
And Salonica sees a goodly band 
Of noble converts rise. Bereans, too, 
Grow nobler still. Great heathen Athens learns 
Of God the Father and his risen Son, 
And Corinth is "exalted unto heaven." 



19 



When, by and by, from Caesar's capital 

This bonded, faithful, man shall think to write 

To those beloved Philippians, will it be 

With fettered words? No, no. But love and faith 

Shall guide his pen to grandest utterances, 

Which many a toiling child of grace, away 

Along the multiplying years, shall read 

And love, and then thank God for courage new, 

But o'er a greater Troy still hangs the night — 
And sounds the world-wide Macedonian cry. 

'TlTOR gold sometimes a man will leave his home, 

^J^ His friends, his all, and brave a hundred ills, 

Till, face to face with death, he sets on gold 

No whit of value. So, for love of men, 

The good bondservant of the Lord will go 

Away from home and all its bliss, to tread 

The paths of strangers. Braver heart than his 

Ne'er ran the risk of water, fire, or sword, 

Or deadly pestilence. Nor keener mind 

Than that which draws the labyrinthine plan 

Of gospel mission-work has ever graced 

Earth's gallery of intellect. What strife 

With loneliness, privation, climate, care. 

And language, tries each patient soul, that threads 

Such maze of idioms and moods of men ! 

But this man's strife is for the higher prize, 

The prize of souls. And so, when face to face 

With death, his heart is full of trust and hope 

Of happy resurrection from the dead, 

When he shall say with joy, " Here, Loid, am I, 

And here are those whom Thou hast given me." 



20 



®1|0 Stiati00l-learer 

TjCOW beautiful upon the heights 
1*^ The feet of him who brings 
Good tidings from the Lord of lights, 
Glad tidings of good things ! 

As if with telescopic eye 

He sees all tribes as one, 
And hears with ultra ear the cry 

From every Macedon. 

God speed his way from tropic plains 

To where the ices lie ; 
From conquered lands and prison chains 

To realms of liberty ; 

From Indian bloom and shrine and priest 

To banks of polar snow ; 
From countless China in the East 

To western Mexico ; 

From far-famed Britain's ancient soils 

To sunset states and young ; 
From waters where the sailor toils 

To sands o'er deserts flung; 

From pomp and pride of stately church, 

And rule of churchly state, 
To nooks which almost baffle search. 

And souls outside the gate. 

God speed him till the times begin, 

When surely, as foretold. 
The King shall bring His kingdom in, 

And set His street of gold. 



21 



That day the Lamb shall take his bride, 

The Shepherd fold his sheep, 
The Father with his sons abide. 

And saints their Sabbath keep. 

Full fifteen hundred millions strong 

Now crowd our mother earth. 
But none may count the blood-washed throng 

Redeemed in second birth. 



^•^ 



Dear tired toilers in far lands, 
How ought we, every one. 

To stay not, but stay up, your hands 
Till set of harvest sun ! 

How strengthens He the loving heart 

That dares its all divide. 
And spend for love the larger part 

And then be spent beside ! 

How guideth He the hands and feet 

That strive so patiently 
To bear the burden and the heat 

Of all the busy day ! 

Ah, ye who sow in earthly tears 
Shall reap in heavenly joy. 

And spend the grand eternal years 
In high and sweet employ ! 

22 



A 3au-Brpam 

jfj WALK in spirit far away 
cll On India's "coral strands," 
And tread the valley where they say 
Our faithful mission stands. 

I take the Christian captain's hand, 
Give each dear helper mine. 

And note how God has sped the band 
On mission so divine. 

I hear the Word, the hymn, the prayer, 

Discern the witness given, 
Apply the text, " The Lord is there," 

And in my heart thank heaven. 



^^ 



l^arupfit 

How white for harvest everywhere 
The whole earth's acres wait^! 

What pity. Lord, Thy men are few. 
With all the growth so great ! 

Who, who will go and work to-day. 

Or who the Reaper send 
To save the grain ere harvest pass, 

Or golden summer end ? 

2X 



Ill 



31 »U (Eom^ Again ** 




"a ci-oih) rs ON TiiKiR SKY " — Pag-e 47 



'*il HiUl (Homf Agattt" 

fES, once for all, the Christ will come ; 
He said he would. 
This same green earth shall be his home, 
That drank his blood. 

While nineteen hundred Christian years 

Their marches tread. 
His members wait in toil and tears 

Their sacred Head. 

And " some fair morn with rosy light" 
The night shall crown ; 
Some soft sweet hour of starlit night " 
Bring Jesus down. 



Paalm X0I3I 

The "secret place of the Most High " 

Is where I long to dwell, 
From clashing arms of nations free, 

And rising hosts of hell. 

How very near that dreadful day 
Of world-wide strife may be, 

Is known to Him in heaven above 
But not on earth to me. 

Meanwhile in closet of my home", 

Or closet of my heart. 
With Him who sees in secret still, 

I find a place apart. 

As Mercy sang on Bunyan's page, 
" Let Him, if 't be His will," 

Well shepherd me till dawns His day 
For folding Israel. 

27 



" (gnii #atip % King" 

♦ * A KING shall reign in righteousness" — 

<^V My king, your king, our strong redress, 
A whole world's king, that world to bless. 
" God save the King!" 

Baptizing in the ritual grave 
John saw the Holy Spirit lave 
The royal Man at Jordan's wave. 
" God save the King !" 

And yet to death th' Anointed came, 
To cross and pain and blood and shame, 
Asserting still his kingly claim. 

"God save the King!" 

He rose. And now, till time restores, 
He waits where heavenly glory pours, 
Beyond "the everlasting doors." 
"God save the King!" 

When David's race accepts the things 
His re-built tabernacle brings. 
Thrice welcome back, thou King of kings ! 
" God save the King!" 

"diail]attgp Not" 

In God's eternal cycle great. 

Lie paths of times untold. 
Incalculable aeons wait 

The world His hands uphold. 

A thousand years tho' He abide, 

'Tis but a day's abode. 
Our life, which wearying hours divide, 

Is not the life of God. 

How good to know He changes not, 

Though ages change apace. 
And ne'er shall fail in one small jot 

The promise of His grace ! 

28 



m 



OUNT ZION of David, magnificent hill ! 
What hopes and what memories gather thereon ! 
High-priestly Melchisedek's Salem is still 

The goal of God's people and throne of His Son. 

Dear Mount of Jehovah, His chosen of heights. 
Bestowed on His nation, His chosen of men ; 

The place of His rest, and the page where He writes 
His marvelous Name with the centuries' pen. 

Though " plowed as a field," and though desolate long, 
Though shorn of its dwellers, the great and the small, 

There yet shall be gathered with joy and with song 
God's Judah and Joseph and Benjamin, all. 

To Zion right soon the Redeemer will come. 
And turn from His people ungodliness then. 

The wastes will be plenished, the scattered come home, 
And Salem be " joy of the whole earth" again. 

The tent of Jehovah shall stand on its crest, 

And Jesus Messiah shall govern it well. 
There Israel's children, brought back to their rest, 

And children of children forever shall dwell. 




29 



NTO the high and holy place, 
On gracious work intent, 
Long, long ago, our great High-priest 
Beyond the veiling went. 

And then the tinkling of his bells — 

His sound of entrance in — 
Was heard, when fell the power that saved 

Three thousand souls from sin. 

Still on the right of heaven's throne, 

Where radiant glory pours. 
He holds for us His ministries 

Behind the heavenly doors. 

' Behold he cometh out !" The cry 
Is heard afar to-day. 
And hark — His sound — the music sweet 
Of bells not far away 1 



30 



J 

1| 



Are we almost there ? Are we nearing home ? 

Are those the lights of the Father's house ? 
Are these the tones of his harps that come 

On the evening air at the journey's close? 

Do the waymarks wane on the thoroughfare ? 

Do the last ones point to the promised end ? 
Have they, who the way of the Lord prepare, 

Made straight His paths for the homeward trend ? 

The four-realmed form of the monarch's dream 
Takes shape apace ; and the mountain stone 

Waits near to smite with its might extreme 
The way for a heavenly Monarch's throne. 

The robe, the ring, and the fatted calf. 
The ample floor where the music calls. 

And kiss compassionate, tell not half 
That waits for sons in the Father's halls. 



31 



IV 



IjaEAR town that carriest well thy part 
2t* In Massachusetts fair, 
Thy history is in the heart, 
Thine influence on the air. 

Eight times a score of years have passed 

Since first the trail of man 
Was broken in the forest vast, 

Where fox and rabbit ran. 

Thy wooded hills stood grandly then. 
And Scantuck's banks untrod, 

And restless breast unbridged by men. 
Dreamed not of net and rod. 

While gray and green of hills at play. 

And mottle of the glen, 
Threw all their tint and grace away 

On brute and insect ken. 

A settler came with wife and child. 

And others followed fast, 
Until their dwellings in the wild 

To rank of village passed. 

In course of time the meeting-house 

Upon the common rose. 
Where saddled horses pawed the browse 

Ere second sermon's close. 



35 



The seats were slabs, as was the wont. 

With bark still on the wood ; 
A clapboard crowned the pulpit's front 

And held the book of God. 

The people grew. Their households free 

Bore their full mete of men. 
Without its generations three 

Where stood the dwelling then ? 

Judge Bliss could represent the shire, 

And Parson Warren pray, 
And Burt Esquire, and Sessions " Squire" 

Deal justice in their day. 

And there were Newell, Isham, Cone, 
Shaw, Goodwill, Turner, Day, 

Flynt, Stacy, Adams, Eggleston, 
King, Russell, and McCray. 

Burt, Chapin, Morris, West and Lord, 
Hunt, Stebbins, Chaffee, Pease, 

Root, Langdon, Burleigh, Beebe, Wood 
And Smith — and more than these. 

The village grew, and mills upsprung 

As men came in to stay ; 
And belfries rose, till seven bells rung 

On Independence Day. 

The church and school took each its part 

The truth and light to spread. 
And hardly less than pastor's heart 

Was held the teacher's head. 

The sterling rule of fatherhood 

And sweet maternal cheer 
Have here combined their powers for good 

And fashioned character. 



36 




a o 



< < 



■ 



Thy books recall the natal date 

Of doctor, lawyer, clerk, 
Historian, preacher, magistrate, 

And more, of worth and work. 

Men of the cloth, the pen, the pill, 

The safe, the sword, the sea, 
The bar, the bench, the chair, the mill. 

The rail — have hailed from thee. 

In eighteen hundred seventy-eight 

A break from Wilbraham 
Left thee to rule thine own estate 

And choose another name. 

Though there are Hampdens everywhere 
Among the wide earth's towns, 

Yet few men's names have fame more fair 
Than England's honored John's. 

But let no fortune hide the faults 

Which break the law within. 
For that which God to Heaven exalts 

Must answer for its sin. 

Live long, dear town. Thy strength renew. 

For lovelier soil than thine 
Dame Nature gives to townships few 

This side the storied Rhine. 

As mountains guard som.e city's wall, 
See how thine own guard thee. 

And point, as if from earthly thrall, 
To Heaven that maketh free. 



37 



A thousand links there are that hold 

All men in common weal, 
Whose kindly ministries untold 

To every soul appeal. 

The same warm sun that blesses me, 
Awoke earth's primal flowers. 

The same white moon that glints my tree 
Once glinted Eden's bowers. 

I see the same Orion rise 

That rose on Uz and Ur, 
And lured to study of the skies 

Each great astronomer. 

The very bow Jehovah set 

His covenant to speak 
Is bending, when the hills are wet, 

Above my valley meek. 

The hues that crown my sunset sky 

The same have ever been. 
O'er lake and plain Messiah's eye 

Took all their glory in. 

(iur ^om?-ICattb 

Though Orient shores the sunrise greet. 
And South lands count their spoil ; 

Though soft Levantine fields are sweet 
With vines and wines and oil; 

To us there is no dearer seat 
Than our Columbian soil. 

We sit in pleasant places here. 

Between the mighty seas. 
A goodly heritage we share. 

Whose blessings still increase, 
A heritage of love and prayer, 

A heritage of peace. 

38 



A ia^ tit July 

'JI^EHIND the ridgy eastern hills the sun 
1^ Is coming up. Across his great red face 
Two pictured oaks are gliding down like views 
Upon a showman's canvas. Up and up 
He rides, and leaves them standing dim and still, 
With only sky for background. All along 
The fields the widening sunlight eastward creeps 
And creeps, till all the little world that lies 
Within our whole horizon smiles. 

The air 
Is full of song and sweetness. Fasting cows 
Eye wistfully the tempting pasture blades 
That nod outside the barnyard wall, until 
The noisy milkers drop the clattering bars 
And give them freedom. Bustling matrons ply 
Between their stores and stoves and tables, while 
Great fragrant promises of breakfast float 
Away from open doors, and barefoot boys. 
As yet unjacketed, go brushing dew 
Or paddling in the pools of recent rain. 

Beside the winding fences and the brook 
The supple mowers swing the gleaming scythe, 
And round and round the ponderous machine 
Goes clanking through the stately waving grass. 

The sun is hot and high. Within the shade. 
The cooling brookside shade, the sated cows 
Stand lazily. The butcher's tired horse, 
Returning from his daily round is glad. 
Slow stepping up the hill. The kitchen glows; 
But willing hands have spread the noonday meal. 

That past, the rested men assault again 
The half made hay that patiently awaits 
The turning. Lo ! What thing of life is this, 
That pulls and kicks and tosses right and left 

39 



Th' astonished hay so fast and spitefully, 

Till all the stretching acres find themselves 

Turned upside down? 0, labor-saving steel ! 

0, cunning hand of man ! While early sons 

Of young New England plied their ample hands, 

How little did their farthest thought forecast 

The revelation of such mystic strength 

And skill ! See how the maddening tedder's wrath 

Has surely praised the maker ! 

Now the men 
May rest awhile. Beneath the elm the cup, 
The sweetened, gingered (only gingered) cup 
With homely wit goes round. Lunch past, the rakes 
Come on. The windrows grow. The tumbles pile. 
The cart comes lumbering up and pitchforks play, 
'Till load on load is safely in the barn. 

The sun is low. The cows come slowly home. 
And played-out children eat their bread and milk. 
How still the clean-swept empty meadow lies! 

Upon the crown of yonder western hill 
The woodman's axe has left one kingly pine. 
And there, just there, the sun is going down, 
A picture fair — the green-robed monarch set 
In gold — but fleeting, for no living man 
May bid again the sun stand still. So down 
He sinks, to wake the world beyond, and leave 
Our worn and tired one to rest and peace. 



40 



DECEMBER 

Up in the height of the heaven blue — 

No, it is gray to-day — 
And all the realms of the low air through, 

The feathery snowflakes play. 

Over the trodden and plundered bed 
Of earth with its autumn stains 

And faded patchwork of fields, they spread 
The fairest of counterpanes. 

Whitest of things in the world is snow, 

Stillest of sounds its sigh ; 
Lightest of touches on cheek and brow 

Its kisses of greeting die. 

Type of the purity known above. 

And type of the covering tide 
Of paschal grace that was spread in love, 

The stain of our sin to hide ! 

MARCH 

Ah ! But the sight was a fleeting thing! 

For the conquered snowflakes feel 
The warm, soft, breath of the waking spring. 

And what does their flight reveal ? 

The same old face of the ground once more, 

All stripped of its veil, appears 
With its worn out features furrowed o'er 

With the wrinkling lines of years. 

There, in the track of the vanished snow, 
'Mid the grasses flat and brown, 

Great sorry mosaics of rubbish now 
On the northering sunshine frown. 

O, Lamb of Calvary, bare not so 

My soul in Thy spring, I pray; 
But over it still thine atonement throw 

In the great revelation day. 

41 



OIl)r Blnubfit litiiiiing 



W 



But she asked in a twinkling, and left me betimes, 
Before I could think it and utter it too, 

That poets write poems, and rhymers make rhymes. 
What sort of a verse would she like ? Let me see. 

Blank verse is my forte, for it's easy to write — 
The blanker the better — and blank should this be ; 

But the subject in hand is not grave enough quite. 

A wedding ! A wooden one ! More than my match 

Will be "firstly " and "thirdly" and so forth, I'm sure. 
For I've wondered and pondered and scratched the gray thatch 

Above my top story for half of an hour. 
For something to prime with. But, spite of it all, 

Not the thinnest old ghost of a " firstly " will rise. 
So I've climbed lower down, where I lovingly call 

On the tenderest depths of my heart for supplies. 

To tell the whole truth, five years don't inspire 

Very much of a flourish of pencil or ink. 
If the five were a fifty, my flight might be higher. 

(I hope the good couple won't hark while I think. ) 
I'll ask them to let me, this once, be excused. 

They're sure to be gracious — 'tis one of their ways. 
I'll promise their mercy shall not be abused. 

And give them my uttermost thanks all the days. 



42 



The years are full of first wedding days, 

The altars of bridal gifts. 
On a day unmarked by some marriage-vow 

No curtain of morning lifts. 

But when the years from the plighting time 

Have woven the lives of men 
Into half the web of a century, 

Ah ! Where are the pledgers then ? 

For the ritual words, "Till death do part," 

Are surely a prophecy; 
Nor bond, nor honor, nor strength of love 

Can put the fulfilment by. 

So a rare good gift at the hand of Heaven 
Is your golden wedding day — 

A table-land toward the mountain top, 
A glade toward the twilight gray. 

Be the day to you, who for fifty years 
Together have smiled and wept, 

A happier one than the marriage-time. 
So long in memory kept. 

Sweet rest beyond 1 May it wait for each. 

Whatever in life betide. 
And raiment white, when the shining Christ 

Shall take to himself his Bride. 



43 



m 



HERE maples wave o'er the sunny tiers 
Of a dear New England hill, 



A gambrel roof of a hundred years 
Makes home for a household still. 

Colonial sway had spent its tide, 

And federal rule begun, 
When the stalwart builder led his bride 

And christened his hearth of stone. 

In time all round the ancestral tree 

Six pairs of pattering feet 
Improved their skill and their liberty, 

While life and its loves grew sweet. 

But the birdlings, all but one, outgrew 
The scope of the sacred nest. 

And spread their wings to the wider blue 
Of the north, the south, the west. 

And the gray haired lord and lady rare 
Lay down in the dreamless sleep, 

And left the pastures and gardens fair 
To the later lord to keep. 

Then over again the wedded lives. 
The patter, the flight, the pall, 

While the great perpetual roof survives 
For the latest lord of all. 



44 



V . 



A iHorntng ^utta^t 

^yOO long ere we could dream the night would come, 
V!/ " This child of fond affection" fell asleep. 
Too long ere noon this cloud enwrapped the home, 
And draped its sacred walls with darkness deep. 

The hope, the ardor, and the fair intent, 
Which marked his busy preparation-day. 

How soon is all their inspiration spent. 

And all the prize they promised snatched away ! 

Since our first father fell, no household band 
Is ever made so strong it does not break. 

The law of death still bears relentless hand. 
Suspending never yet for love's sweet sake. 

But then, the early dead are they who die 

Beset by loving care and tenderness. 
And so, since death must be, would you or I 

Call back the dead to live till love is less ? 

But none the less a cloud is on their sky. 

Who miss so suddenly the step, the look. 
The voice, the word, the touch, the smile, the eye, 

Of him so long the lambkin of the flock. 
Yet memory's lights can pierce the cloud to-day: 

One falls on scenery where a young heart bows 
To Jesus' grace, and finds the only way 

To reach the Father and the Father's house. 

The things unseen, the life and world to come. 

Are dearer now — more strong to bend the will 
And guide the feet along the path to Home ; 

For life and light and Heaven are kindly still. 

"Because I live, so ye shall live," He said, 
Who died, was buried, rose, and went on high. 

And He who brought from death our conquering Head, 
Will bring His members with Him, by and by. 

« 

47 



m 



(§m Matbn 

E loved you, Mother ! Ere our tender feet 
Could hardly climb our father's threshold low, 
Our hearts had caught a draft of love so sweet 
From out your lips that we can taste it now. 

The goosequill and the old blue spelling-book. 
With which our opening powers began to bore 

The awful mine of lore and language, took 
Their only charm for us from out your store 

Of smiles and kind encouragement. And when 
Sometimes the rock-bound ore so baffling lay 

That tools gave place to tears, how deftly then 
You made the granite yield us victory ! 

We loved you, Mother ! All along the years 
Of life's strange discipline of joy and pain. 

Beneath your mmistries of smiles and tears. 
The joy was sure to wax, the grief to wane. 

We loved you. Mother ! So, how strange and sad, 
How very sad and how surpassing strange, 

We rarely told you so, to make you glad, 

With tones and touches meet for love's exchange. 

O careless world of women and of men, 
Beset by love's sweet service while we live, 

To leave, till love's sweet heart has passed our ken, 
The answering ministry we meant to give ! 




48 



Blessed the day 

Calling away 
The weary from labor and children fronfi play. 

Beautiful bell, 

With echo and swell. 
Ringing the hour of God's worship to tell. 

Light the young feet. 
On many a street, 
Hastening on in the schoolroom to meet. 

Happy the throng 
Raising the song 
Of praise and thanksgiving to God that belong. 

Cheerful the place, 

And welcome each face. 
And precious each lesson of wisdom and grace. 

But a holier spell 

Than of lesson or bell 
Is the spirit of Jesus within us to dwell. 

The way may be long 

And the battle be strong, 
Which ends in "Sweet Home " and the conqueror's song, 

And snares may befall, — 

But what of them all, 
If God's be the service, and God's be the call ? 

Is she queen of the schoolroom ? Yes, O yes ! 

Its floor is her throne to-day. 
A child leans forward to touch her dress 

And another to say his "A." 
She smiles, and guides with a patience meet 

The growth of the young idea. 
Whose fruit, please Heaven, shall ripen sweet 

In the sun of some far-off year. 

49 



cUit ^mr^ M, iCottgfftlUmt 

Dear busy hand, so wont so long 

The fair white page to trace 
In gentle ministry and strong. 
Dispensing generous wealth of song 

And verse of power and grace ; 

To grasp thee once would be delight 

Because we claim thee kin 
By sympathy, in daring spite 
Of will of thine, or mile or height. 

Or social line between. 

Dear busy brain, whose patient play 

Has wrought us pleasure so 
In opening for us far away 
Enchanted galleries of to-day 

And of the long ago ; 

Whose sceneries, rich with cottage, tower, 
Sea, mountain, stream, and lake, 

Have held our eyes for many an hour ; 

We feel thine artful, artless, power, 
And glad confession make. 

Dear heart, whose faith and hope and love 
Have made cold words so warm, 

And found for doubt, the floods above. 

Always some olive-leaf to prove 
The passage of the storm. 

We court the friendships thou hast wrought 
With charms thy love can lend, 

'Till many a figure which thy thought 

Has into mystic being brought, 
Seems like a household friend. 

50 



Of one "dead lamb," one "open door," 

One "solemn voice and slow," 
Of many a shape that comes once more 
With noiseless footsteps on the floor, — 

Ah, yes ! We know — we know. 

At " Children's hour" we've seen them glide 

Softly, for siege prepared — 
Then, victor-victims, fast inside 
The tender-hearted "dungeon" hide, 

"Grave," "laughing," "golden-haired." 

What rhythm, witching to our ears, 

In Plymouth story rings, 
And follows far through hopes and fears 
Patient Evangeline for years. 

And her sad victory sings. 

War's ' ' Miserere " on the air, 

Christ's "Peace" and God's "Good-will;" 
The low- voiced reading after care, 
The clock's "Forever" on the stair. 

Are sounds that echo still. 

With "God o'erhead and heart within," 

Dear singing soul, sing on, 
'Till thou shalt reach that " Wayside Inn " 
Where toil shall cease and rest begin. 

When sets thy westering sun. 

Beyond this strangely changing lot. 

Beyond these pictures dim. 
Be thine the life where death comes not. 
Thine ' ' Ultima ' ' of this forgot 

In that life's perfect hymn. 



51 



(EarpfuhtcBH 

g^TEP lightly, child, 
^^ The baby sleeps. 
Speak kindly, child, 
Thy mother weeps. 

Be gentle, man, 

Thy neighbor grieves. 
Be honest, man, 

God counteth sheaves. 

Have mercy, friend. 
Sore heart needs ease. 

Be faithful, friend, 
The Master sees. 

Write plainly, scribe, 
In words that burn. 

Nor let one bribe 
Thy sentence turn. 

Preach boldly, Paul, 
Mayhap with tears. 

Pray always, all. 
The Father hears. 

Walk straitly, saint, 
'Tis one strait way. 

But love's restraint 
Is liberty. 




52 



Dare, dare, to count before you build 

The cost of all your tower. 
Lest, ere its stories half be filled, 

Your purse exhaust its power. 

Dare, dare, to try each spirit bright, 
That comes with offering free. 

And bid it rise to face the light, 
Whate'er its gift may be. 

Dare, dare, to test the very friend 

Of all your sunny years, 
And prove how far his graces tend, 

When days are dark with tears. 

Dare, dare, to doubt the times and laws 

Of power unjust and proud ; 
To trace afar each hidden cause, 

And tell the truth aloud. 

And even dare to probe the Book 

Which bears God's word from heaven ; 

For it itself doth bid us look 
For proof of all things given. 

Although alone you keep your post. 

Yet many an upper room 
Recruits today a growing host 

Who claim their freedom come. 

For not alone to fight the fight 

Will Heaven leave him long, 
Who dares to wage a war of right 

Against whatever wrong. 



53 



VI 



My bark may plow the deepest seas 

Or strike on sanded bars, 
Or icy bergfs at far degrees 

Beneath the polar stars. 

But I am sure One guides the helm. 
And guards each beam and joint. 

Who lets no tempest overwhelm, 
And holds the needle's point. 

I'll soon descry the palmy shore 

And towers of Salem see. 
Where waits, when sailing all is o'er. 

Eternal rest for me. 

In the sleep of the silent night 
There is rest for the weary frame. 

And throbbing pulses which all day long 
Have answered to labor's claim. 

In the valley of penitence 

There is rest for the sorry soul 
With feet that have strayed on the hills of sin 

And hands that have spurned control. 

In the faith of the wounded Lamb 
There is rest for the broken heart, 

In which Jehovah is pledged to dwell, 
From the troubling world apart. 

In the halls of the Father's House 
There is rest for each faithful son, 

When "sorrow and sighing shall flee away," 
And the Father's good will be done. 

57 



log ttt tfif Morning 

'Tis midnight hour, and the night is dark' 
And the way beset with gloom, 

While the pilgrim's lamp gives feeble spark. 
0, when will the morning come ? 

'Tis three o'clock, the heaviest hour. 

The hour men oftenest die. 
And fear and doubt on the spirit lower.. 

0, when will the night go by ? 

Tis four o'clock, and the tardy light 

Delays in the eastern skies, 
Till the pilgrim's faith sore longs for sight™ 

O, when will the day-star rise ? 

Ah, light steals on, and the night is past,. 
And the day is breaking. See ! 

Earth's signs are on, and her armies vast 
Are training to set her free. 

IHg-attli-ISQ 

To one remorseless river-bed 

All paths of mortals tend. 
A cradle rocks where each begins, 

A grave awaits the end. 

By man came sin ; by sin came death ; 

And death has passed on all ; 
For they who share his life and death 

Share also Adam's fall. 

But on the other shore there lies 

Another path of life. 
Which the Anointed One has found 

After a mortal strife. 

Some day this pilgrimage will end. 

And Jordan cease to be. 
And dying life give blessed place 

To immortality. 

58 



God grant we may, through mercy great, 

Be gathered by and by 
*' To Canaan's fair and happy land, 

Where our possessions lie." 



^^ 



"Nn%r Atty Mar^ fain" 

What ! Not any more ? Say, not any more 
That maddening thing that o'er and o'er 
Has followed so closely the primal fall. 
And pierced the heart of creation all ? 

Ah ! Not any more shall the pulses beat. 
And the muscles grind with the nameless heat 
That cuts, like a warrior's weapon sharp. 
The sentient strings of the human harp ? 

No more, no more, of the weakening wave 
That sweeps on a mortal as if a grave 
Were opening wide like a gate of hell. 
To take him down where the dead ones dwell ? 

But God has promised his dead shall rise ; 
0, yes ! In the word what a comfort lies ! 
Shall rise undying and glorified. 
When falls on the age its eventide. 

In the by-and-by, on the other shore, 

Aye, then and there will be pain no more. , 

For God has promised it shall not be, 

In His own new earth with its healing tree. 

59 



3lFnt0alpm 

Whene'er I read the words that bring 

To my enraptured view 
The city of the one great King, 

Jerusalem, the New," 
At once sweet memory recalls 

The words and tones of old, 
" When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls 

And pearly gates behold ?" 
And back again the echoes come. 

Across the years to me, 
"Jerusalem, my glorious home. 

Thy joys when shall I see ?" 



i»^ 



Wxm of ll|p iKtngiinm 

The lands of the olive and vineyard red 
That smile on thy southern sea, 

beautiful Europe, I may not tread. 
Nor taste of their luxury. 

But the royal wine of the " Land ahead " 
Will sparkle, I hope, for me. 



60 




E WAY MAY BE LONG " — Page 49 



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